


Bubblegum

by Dallas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Mentor/Protégé
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4488543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dallas/pseuds/Dallas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The beginning is not always as you'd expect it to be. A possible explanation behind Nymphadora's favourite hair colour. Or how Alastor Moody grew attached to the walking disaster that is Nymphadora Tonks, in four parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bubblegum

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while roleplaying on tumblr. So if you've seen it around that was where you saw it. Decided to post it here as an actual fic and share it.
> 
> It was inspired by a headcanon made by my friend Nat.

He was  _retired_.

It seemed that nobody in the Ministry knew how retirement worked. A fair cop given how many of them died before they could get the chance to retire. He’d gotten out early. At least, he liked to think so. It was better than the alternative - he’d gotten out because he couldn’t do his job any more. With one leg and one eye he was hardly a credit to his profession. But with half his face scarred, a great chunk of his nose missing, he doubted there was anyone on Earth who would be willing to work with him day in and day out. Reputation or no. Besides, the effects of the war hadn’t been limited to psychical ailments.

He’d seen enough of his former trainees dead. Tortured and left on display, waiting for him. Their families strewn about them like discarded waste. Young and old alike they had fallen. Some tracked down and killed by the Dark Lord himself. They were the worst. They were the ones that haunted him. He saw the scenes whenever he closed his eyes and in his waking hours his mind went over their case files. He’d only needed to read each of them once. He knew every detail, he remembered every speck of blood.

The last thing he needed was another trainee under his belt. He didn’t need to watch another  _kid_  go out there and end up a footnote in a yearly review. Fenwick,  _dead_. Dearborn,  _never recovered_. The Bones family,  _dead_. The McKinnons, _slaughtered_. The Prewett lads,  _mobbed and strung up for all to see_. The Potters,  _killed in front of their son_. The Longbottoms,  _not even the luxury of death_. That was enough. Enough for a lifetime.

Bitterly he threw the letter into the fire. No, he wouldn’t be taking on a new one. Whether they valued his skill and experience or not. He was done with all of it. The war was long over and what did they have to show for it? Beyond people moving on with their lives. Forgetting. When people forgot their history, history had a way of coming back for them. He grimaced and pulled himself up out of his chair, leaning heavily on his staff. He’d had enough.

> *******

He yanked the door open, a fierce scowl on his face.

The figure jumped back slightly and stumbled backwards. She seemed to linger on the edge of the steps, her arms windmilling in a desperate attempt to stay upright. Desperate and ultimately futile. She dropped down the stairs, limbs flying in all directions, only to seemingly bounce back onto her feet again. She bounded back up to the door and saluted awkwardly. “Wotcher!”

Alastor continued to scowl at her, his imposing frame filling up the doorway as the strange girl simply stood there grinning up at him. As the silence persisted her grin faltered slightly. Her skin seemed to flush a deep red before returning to a more natural olive tint. There was a degree of blue in her eyes that matched his perfectly, followed by the growing streaks of ginger in her otherwise green hair. “Yer the Tonks lass,” he growled out. Everyone knew about the Metamorphmagus. She was the one his letter had been about.  _This_  was the trainee they were forcing on him? The girl couldn’t even stop her own two feet from killing her.

“Dora!” she exclaimed enthusiastically, he grin returning to full force. She stuck out her hand in greeting. “Auror Shacklebolt said you’re my mentor! When do we start?”

“We dinnae,” he growled out and slammed the door. He turned to head downstairs for lunch only to have his magic eye remained trained on the door. She wasn’t moving. Her hand remained up until she realised her mistake and pulled it down. He waited. Something inside him was interested to see what the girl did.

The knocker sounded through the townhouse again and he turned back to the door. It opened with the same sense of irritation he’d had earlier. Though he paused when he found fresh eyes - perfectly blue - and a thick amount of ginger hair sticking out in all directions. “If ye tryin’ ta disguise yerself, ye should wait some time before knockin’ on the door again, an’ change yer outfit,” he advised gruffly.

“I’m not-” she shook her head almost violently, streaks of brown running through the ginger locks. “-It’s a method I taught myself to make people more receptive to me. Mimicry is a method in evolutionary biology that enables-”

“I dinnae need a lesson in biology. Nor do I need a trainee,” he growled out.

“Protégé,” she corrected, with a bright smile.

“English or Frog, it’s all the ruddy same an’ I’m nae ha'in’ any o’ it,” he warned her. He straightened to his full height, watching her eyes widen as he did so. Her mouth opened slightly. “Well? What are ye waitin’ fer? Away with ye!”

Nymphadora continued to stare at him. Her sparkling blue eyes filled with wonder. “You’re a giant-” she whispered like a stunned child.

> *******

The downside - for others - when it came to his injury was that he only seemed to improve his skills. Once he’d learnt to walk with the leg, and adjusted to seeing out the back of his own head, he’d found the staff he chose to walk with was more useful than he gave it credit. Being ambidextrous he found it easy to swap his wand and staff over whenever he liked. But the really fascinating thing was learning to fight with both at once. The yew staff had been hand crafted by Ollivander and held some magical properties should he need them. Though with his eye aiding him he was unstoppable.

However, it wasn’t an attack he was focused on at the moment. And he didn’t need all his skills to come out on top. He looked to the doors of the old warehouse. Kingsley waited for him, holding something up to grab his attention. “We’re done fer today,” he growled. The girl dropped her guard and began to head towards her pack, sweat shining on her skin. Alastor grimaced. The girl just didn’t seem to get it. As she passed him he raised his staff and swung it around to catch her hard at the back of the knees.

She dropped like a tonne of bricks, crying out in pain as she hit the ground. He slammed the staff against the ground as he leant on it with both hands. “Ne'er drop yer guard, lass,” he growled out. She turned her face up towards him, a fire blazing in her eyes even as she looked close to tears. “Get cleaned up an’ run home ta yer Mother.”

“Moody,” Shacklebolt had closed the distance between them, his eyes on the Auror in training scrambling to get up off the dusty floor.

Alastor shook his head as he turned to the younger man, his magical eye watching the girl head off to collect her gear. Her head down, her hair mousy brown. He’d already cracked her. But building her up seemed to be taking more work than he expected.

“How is she working out?”

“Like bubblegum on m'ruddy shoe,” Alastor growled. “What ha'e ye got?”

> *******

Hot pink hair. She was supposed to be discreet and she came to him with hot pink hair. His jaw may as well have been steel for the way it clenched shut the moment he saw her. Fingers dug into the wood of his staff as he stood in the near deserted Ministry Atrium. “What the devil are ye playin’ at, Tonks?” he growled out as she neared him. His tone alone causing quite a few people nearby.

“Wotcher, Moody!” she flashed that irritating grin. As though every trouble in the world was water of a duck’s back for her. He wasn’t sure if it was that or her eternal optimism that irritated him more.

“Ye think yer funny, do ye?” he snapped.

“Aye, that I do-” she responded in a perfect imitation of him. She swanned past him, completely oblivious to one of her boot laces being undone. “Besides! You were the one who called me bubblegum!”

Magic sparked against his fingers. Rage built inside him. He was damn well going to kill the girl if it was the last thing he did. Damn the Ministry and damn the consequences. Because if he didn’t she was going to be the death of him.


End file.
